The Forest Games
by Stagey
Summary: My Warrior's version of The Hunger Games. Eight cats, one sinister organization, and a whole lot of blood.


**Hi! This is my strange Warriors version of The Hunger Games. I've butchered up the story though and made quite drastic changes so most of you won't even recognize the similarities. In fact, I'm doubting if it's even a bit like The Hunger Games at all... Anyway, if you like the story, pleaseeee review! I'd like to hear some criticism or praise, also reviewing helps me continue writing the story. Makes me feel as if someone cares. Anyway, enjoy!**

**The Forest Games**

**Wolfe**

_Wolfe_ groaned and turned over onto his belly. He had been resting peacefully in the shade on a hot green-leaf day when a noise had awoken him.

Blinking, Wolfe struggled dozily to his paws and felt a rush of warmth from the leaves around him that crackled as he got himself to an upright position. His pelt was battered with sunlight and heat, and although the surrounding trees did a splendid job of protecting him from the harshest glare, he still felt the need to shut his eyes and go back to sleep, away from the sun and everything bright.

But fate would not let young Wolfe do that. He was reasonably fit for what would happen to him during the course of the next five moons; he was around ten moons and a few odd days; his fur was a dark gray with a silver stripe running down his back to the tip of his tail' his eyes were an eerie green and seemed to stare right through you. He is stocky and broad shouldered, although he slims down around his midsection. His legs are his largest setbacks. Although they appear strong, his hind legs were weakened incredibly during a fall from a high tree less than two moons ago.

Wolfe's attributes would help him through his pain-filled future.

Blinking again, Wolfe pricked his sharp ears towards the source of the noise which was northeast of him.

Wolfe considered ignoring the sound altogether and going back to his slumber, but yet again, it could be prey.

As soon as the thoughts of prey hit Wolfe's mind, he heard and felt his stomach grumble.

He was hungry. A whole day he had gone without eating, but even if the noise was prey, he wouldn't know how to catch it. He was somewhat of a loner with no experience of hunting things. He went from place to place, feeding off of crow-food... He didn't know his parents. He knew nothing about himself as a kit except for a brother who died.

Somehow, Wolfe had survived the sickness that his brother had, and he was rescued by two-leg kits.

After three moons as a kittypet, Wolfe had fled, eager to explore. His life was good back with the two-legs, but boring. But after moons of solitude and hostile encounters with cats, Wolfe had found out that exploring was far more dangerous than he imagined. Remarkably, he hadn't been scarred by any scuffles with cats over food and he kept his good looks, which would help him in some situations. But those would come in the future.

Wolfe's stomach grumbled again and he knew he couldn't deny his hunger any further. Setting out towards the sound, Wolfe hoped that he would be able to catch whatever the prey was with some luck.

Padding slowly through the forest towards the sound, Wolfe began to feel slightly cheerful. Although he was still quite tired and abashed by the brightness of the sun, it was a beautiful day with clear skies, fresh air, and the ground was slightly damp because of the rain a day earlier.

Walking more confidently now, Wolfe unsheathed his claws and pricked his ears for the sound again. Until now, it had been a haste rustling noise, but it seemed to stop.

Another sound, much louder and larger than the previous ones, came from a cove of evergreens directly in front of Wolfe.

Instinctively, Wolfe flattened his ears against his head and snarled.

''Who's there?'' He asked, in a voice far harsher than normal. Being a loner had hardened him. But it had also opened his mind. He began to relax. That could have easily been a large animal, like those huge black and white beasts he saw a moon ago.

Yet again, if it were a large beast, he would have spotted it by now.

Before Wolfe could tense himself once more, he was pinned down by four large bodies and knocked unconscious.

…

**Fernpaw**

''_They've_ come!'' The cry of a frightened queen cut sharply through the air and less than five heartbeats later, every cat in the ShadowClan camp was in disarray.

Four seasons had passed, and now it was time for the Games to begin again. Yet very few would call the coming events, ''games''.

Fernpaw had been speaking with a few other apprentices before the queen had cried out.

She and the other apprentices all exchanged looks of dismay. Then they all raced towards the the center of the camp, although a large crowd had already gathered there. Fernpaw, a light brown tabby she-cat with amber eyes was easily the smallest of the apprentices, and she was pushed into the back. Now she couldn't even see the four cats from the Delegation that had been sent to pick one cat from each Clan to participate in the Forest Games, in addition to four young loners or rogues to prove that the Delegation could expand their reach.

Starting countless moons ago, the Delegation had begun to realize that they could not control the Clans forever. They needed a way to show that they still held lives in their paws. They decided to create an event known as the Forest Games, in which four apprentices and four rogues competed in a series of competitive, combat-based situations. Only one cat could remain at the end of the Forest Games. If there was more than one cat remaining, they were all killed.

There had been rebellions against this, of course, but the Delegation had sent its cats to stomp them down almost instantly.

Every four seasons, the Forest Games lasted for five moons. The Delegation was fair, despite the Games. If one cat had managed to survive, their Clan was awarded mounds of fresh-kill for one season every moon and an extra stretch of territory, the latter was valued very highly seeing as the Delegation had taken over much of the Lake. No one knew what reward a rogue or loner received if they won. It had always been a secret. Let it be noted, however, that only two Clan cats had ever won the Games.

Fernpaw, struggling to see above her peers heads, heard a strong voice,

''The Delegation has officially declared the start of the Forest Games. Line up your apprentices for the selection.''

There was a sudden surge of muttering and shuffling as the apprentices of ShadowClan lined up in front of the four Delegation cats that had marched into the camp with an air of swagger and discipline.

Fernpaw could now see the speaker of the four cats.

He was brutally scarred and his black fur looked untidy. His eyes were so dark that it was almost impossible to distinguish the flicker of brown in them. His tail was stubbed and his ears had large holes in them. He was the leader, of course, probably a second deputy in the Delegation.

He marched up and down among the line, studying the ShadowClan apprentices. Fernpaw was at the end and when he stopped at her, she knew.

''Her.''

Almost immediately, there were cries of relief, anger, and dismay. The other apprentices all wore looks of relief and pity as they sifted their eyes toward Fernpaw, almost in unison.

The leader of the four cats looked confidently into the crowd of ShadowClan warriors, queens, elders, and kits, as if daring anyone speak up.

Fernpaw looked back for a split second and saw looks of shock and disbelief.

These looks were easily justified.

Fernpaw, the smallest of the apprentices would never stand a chance in the Forest Games. She was far too small, too frail, too innocent for the Games.

Fernpaw herself was quivering. She was sure that she would be slain the first second she stepped into the first event of the Games.

But Fernpaw had something that many of the apprentices that had not been chosen didn't.

She had heart.

Although she was fearful, she was brave and feisty. She would serve in the Forest Games eagerly and become one of the deadliest opponents.

Two of the Delegation cats padded to each side of Fernpaw and she followed them out of the ShadowClan camp, the other two Delegation cats following.

Just before she left, Fernpaw heard the ShadowClan leader, her mentor, her mother, Gingerstar, cry out,

''Be brave, Fernpaw! Be brave!''

…

**Cherrypaw**

_Cherrypaw_ was probably the most dreadful ThunderClan apprentice who had ever existed. She was arrogant, rude, harsh, and ungenerous. She was beautiful though. Her sleek reddish-brown pelt was beautifully blended in with creamy swirls. Her eyes were an innocent blue, which helped her escape from many scoldings.

However dreadful she was, Cherrypaw was surrounded by a tight group of friends who followed her around everywhere. Even when assessment time came, Cherrypaw's followers insisted on taking the assessment with her.

Her mentor, Foxclaw, had a hard time keeping control over his apprentice. Cherrypaw repeatedly spoke obscenities about her mentor when he wasn't looking and flirted with him anytime she wanted to escape training sessions. Foxclaw knew better than this, and he acted better by punishing his apprentice with extra training sessions and duties in the camp that Cherrypaw regarded as, ''grunt work''.

This particular day, Cherrypaw had decided to lounge around instead of cleaning the elders den as assigned by Foxclaw.

Her father, Eaglestar, leader of ThunderClan, eyed his daughter suspiciously, but only greeted her pleasantly before going on with his work of assigning patrols.

Cherrypaw lounged around the Stony Hollow, flirting with busy toms and trying her best to ignore her father's glare as he walked out of the camp. A few moments passed with no incident.

Then, so abruptly, four large cats marched their way down the Stony Hollow.

Cherrypaw knew instantly.

Eaglestar was out on patrol.

What if she was taken and he didn't find out?

Standing slowly, Cherrypaw glanced nervously at her friends, Berrypaw and Honeypaw, who both backed away, exchanging worried glances.

Cherrypaw huffed and flicked her head towards the four cats, who were now in front of the High Rock.

The largest, a young blueish tom with clear blue eyes cried out,

''We seek the apprentice, Cherrypaw. She will be taken to participate in the Forest Games.''

Every cat in the ThunderClan camp looked uneasy, and no one spoke. Cherrypaw held back a sigh of relief. There may still be hope...

Honeypaw, who had seemed to be holding an outburst in, finally gave in,

''She's there! That's Cherrypaw! The one with the tortoiseshell-like fur!'' Honeypaw then let out a wail and buried her snout in Berrypaw's flank.

Cherrypaw took one glance at her former friend and let out a string of curses. The ThunderClan cats gasped and the leader of the Delegation party snorted in amusement.

With a flick of his tail, the bluish tom ordered two of the Delegation cats to surround Cherrypaw, who looked up at her captors, her air of arrogance and confidence withering.

On their way out of the camp, Eaglestar and his patrol had returned. When he saw his daughter surrounded by the Delegation party, he mewled in anguish.

Cherrypaw had quivered at that mew. She had never had someone mourn over her like that. She had never known the compassion that others had for her, even though she did not return it.

For the first time in her life, Cherrypaw was left speechless.

…

**Cutter**

_Cutter_ was a peculiar cat. He was a reddish-furred tom with light ginger stripes and yellow eyes, which gave him a malevolent look. He was broad-shouldered and around nine moons. He had a personality to fit this look. Ever since he was a kit, Cutter had a somewhat strange mind. He dreamed of stabbing little things with his claws. He beheaded ants with his claws for fun sometimes, and it wasn't strange for him to start prancing about mewing hysterically, trying to mimic the bird songs. On this particular day, Cutter had discovered a dense forest near a Lake. Contrast to the previous day that was sunny and clear, today was rainy and somewhat gloomy. This did not bother Cutter. Almost nothing bothered him.

''...And I mewed to the tom, 'You're not dead, you're a faker... but if you wish, I'll oblige...''' Cutter laughed loudly at this and began to walk. He was surrounded by dense undergrowth and very few tress covered the gray skies. His paws were getting muddier by the wet ground as Cutter trudged through the undergrowth, seemingly unperturbed.

After walking around for a bit, Cutter stumbled upon an injured squirrel which was moving feebly. Cutter could not hide the smirk of satisfaction that spread upon his features. In fact, it would have been impossible to hide it.

''Now, now. How should Cutter put this poor squirrel out of its misery?'' Asked Cutter out loud in an almost mocking voice, ''Ooh! A tree for sharpening his claws. Sharp! Sharp, for swift and deadly stabbing!'' Cutter spotted a birch tree a mere fox-tail east of him and bounded towards it. Then, he began to rake his claws among the trunk of the tree, leaving long lines down it. Some tree sap bled from the trunk of the tree, which made Cutter mew with glee,

''Ooh, the tree is bleeding! Cutter made a tree bleed!'' The strange tom squealed and continued to sharpen his claws, casting occasional glances back at the squirrel, which was still moving slowly.

Cutter should have paid more attention to the rummaging in the surrounding undergrowth. He would have easily spotted the Delegation spy who was crouched low in the undergrowth, watching the strange reddish tom speak to himself. But he didn't.

After one last strike on the trunk of the tree, Cutter sighed in satisfaction. He was ready to slay the squirrel.

Cutter bounded back to the spot where the squirrel... _had_ been? Where was it now?

''Oooh! The squirrel has escaped. Cutter is very angry with himself for leaving the worthless worm to live!'' Cutter glanced up to the tree where he had been sharpening his claws. Ironically the injured squirrel was struggling to climb the trunk of the birch.

Cutter squealed with delight,

''The hunt isn't over yet! Oh yes, it isn't! Cutter will catch that squirrel and end its pitiful life! Yes I will!'' With this, he bounded towards the tree, leaping onto it, his claws unsheathe.

The squirrel struggled harder than ever to cling onto the branch that it had currently climbed unto. Cutter's arrival onto the tree did not help this, for the branch had shaken.

The next event was somewhat comical: The squirrel had somehow managed to leap from the tree and land in a heap. Cutter mimicked this and landed hard. There was a sickening crunch, and Cutter felt the bone in his left hind leg dislocate itself. Cutter's fall was cushioned by the squirrel, which was crushed beneath Cutter's weight.

Cutter lay there, dazed and confused. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils as the crimson liquid appeared from under him.

He tried to move, but was only successful in getting a sharp jolt of pain from his hind leg. Cutter groaned and buried his head in the damp ground.

Night came quickly, and the air had turned freezing cold thanks to the earlier rain which had grown even heavier. Cutter was still in his position, mewing to himself once more,

''No help at all, no, no, no!''

After a while, Cutter decided to stay silent. He had smelled cat when he had first entered the undergrowth. Many different scents of cat. Something was bound to find him.

Less than five heartbeats, four large cats appeared from the dense undergrowth and stopped right in front of Cutter, who looked quite peculiar, covered in dry blood and laying in that awkward position.

One of them spoke carefully, as if unsure on what Cutter was doing,

''Uh, who are you, rogue, and what are you doing here?''

Cutter looked up and blinked, before spilling out his story in exaggerated huffs and haughty mews,

''Oh, poor Cutter is stuck! Can't you see? Stuck here, broken and befuddled, stuck here, stuuuuck! All I was doing was trying to kill a squirrel...''

One of the four cats who had entered spoke unsurpassed to the first one that had spoken,

''He seems a bit... mad.''

The first cat did not respond. He simply stared at Cutter before hauling the reddish tom to his paws and dragging him into the undergrowth.

Cutter's outraged yowls were drowned out by the sound of thunder and rain splashing down onto the ground.

…

**The Forest Games**

**All**

_The_ leader of the Delegation was stoic and expressionless as the eight cats were brought into the Delegation camp.

All were captured on different days, but were brought on the same day to the camp to avoid detection. No Clan cat knew of the Delegation's headquarters, which was essential for the complete control of the Clans. Only the four clan cats who were captured every four seasons knew of the camp, and no Clan cat had ever won the Forest Games before. This was thanks to the unfair rules against Clan cats. Rogues and loners were allowed much more opportunities of victory in the Forest Games events than Clan cats.

The leader of the Delegation stared down upon the eight cats from his high rock which stood in the center of the camp.

All of the cats looked fearful, save the reddish tom who was mewing at the top of his lungs. The leader of the Delegation peered his eyes, but ignored this. He had dealt with more annoying cats before.

No cat was sure how large the Delegation truly was, but it was rumored that the Delegation had more cats than all the Clans combined. Certainly, if this was true, their camp must have been quite large.

The Delegation leader's deputy, Fin, was lean and wiry, but it was his smart strategies of capturing cats of the Forest Games that gave him the respect of every cat in the Delegation, even the Leader.

Fin leaped up unto the high rock, bowed to the Leader, and whispered,

''Forgive me about the last one. He was found by Haze. Apparently he dislocated his leg hunting a squirrel in ThunderClan territory.'' Fin indicated to Cutter, whose underbelly was covered in blood.

The Leader dismissed this with a wave of his tail,

''The medicine-cat will take care of that. Explain the rules to the contestants.''

Fin nodded and bounded down from the high rock.

He paced along the line of eight cats, who were all quivering. All but Cutter were doing it out of fear.

''Listen up, and listen clearly, for I will not repeat myself.'' Fin's voice rang through the camp, and some Delegation cats padded from their dens, surrounding the eight contestants of the Forest Games.

''The Clan cats know of the Games already, so rogues and loners will be asked to listen carefully,'' Continued Fin. He stopped in front of Cutter, who was tapping his paw serenely,

''You are about to participate in the five moon event known as the Forest Games in which eight of you will be pitted against each other in competitive, combat-based situations. Only one of you will survive by the fifth moon. The Forest Games shall be observed by several Delegation deputies, such as myself. Once every moon, you will be thrown into a hollow with tress surrounding it. Guards will be everywhere in case you try to escape. You must fight in the hollow until one of you die.'' Fin stopped and eyed Cutter suspiciously, who was lapping the blood from his pelt,''The first event will start tomorrow, precisely at dawn. Instructions shall be given by Haze,'' He indicated to the bluish tom who had captured Cutter, ''Good night, and good luck.''

The Leader of the Delegation spoke up, his voice ringing clearly around the camp,

''Happy Forest Games.''

**See? Almost nothing like The Hunger Games. You may notice that I did not describe the camp of the Delegation or the leader well. You also may notice that I didn't exactly say what leverage the Delegation had over the Clans. That will all come in due time. Patience is virtue. Thanks for reading, and review! Lemme know what you think.**


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